S'more Camping

What started with an overlooked exit off Hwy417, ended with a ruined birthday cake being cast by yours-truly (plate and all) into Mother Nature's great wonders... followed by a second ruined cake being hurled (once again, plate and all) into the bush - both plates shattering against an innocent and unassuming Spruce. Then I went and kicked the dog (calm down, I didn't kick the dog... THAT would have been overly dramatic) but I did swear at her and I'm pretty sure she went and sulked with the spruce-tree for a while while I tore Steve a new one.

Yes, every camping trip presents us with its own unique challenges be they in the form of bad weather, crap directions, malfunctioning tents, bodily injuries or, as the case may be, all of the above. Normally, overcoming theses challenges and proving yourself rougher, tougher, better prepared and more adaptable than your city-slicker friends can be part of the appeal of these weekend adventures. In reality, setting up a two-pole tent and starting a campfire with liquid "fire-starter" isn't challenging at all - engineering and invention have raped camping of all of the skill that was once required.

Still, I have a high self-opinion and a tendency to think myself rougher and tougher then I know I really am. Generally I weather the rough patches with all of the grace and poise that a young lady who has sustained herself on burnt marshmallows and not showered for three days can muster. I'll make optimistic statements like "at least it isn't snowing," "I guess we won't have to worry about forest fires!" and "it's a good thing the bear didn't get the beer" ... which probably make people want to slap me more than they actually help the situation, but they do have a way of putting things into perspective. If things ever got that bad, you know you could always just jump in the car and drive ten minutes to the nearest Motel6.

Throw spousal dispute into the mix, and you're no longer talking about a mere disagreement with your tent's fly and a Motel6 isn't going to fix the mess... what you have on your hands is full force combat against anything that looks at you the wrong way - and when that cake looked at me the wrong way I lost my cool.

As far as camp-karma goes, this has not been a good year. The season started with a bon-fire ban, bugs, and a tent circa 1811, that wasn't going up, no-way, no-how. The curse continued when I lost my keys, my air-miles card and our dog on the next trip. It then produced closed hiking trails, sun burns and hypothermic weather conditions on my Manitoban adventure. And finally on this last trip: a two hour detour, destructive dog, forgotten tent pegs, full on hissy fit, rain, rain, rain, rain, rain, two broken chairs and a chipped tooth (not mine, thank-god, Steve's... but don't worry honey, it's cute).

Which makes me think that perhaps I will pack in the tent for a year and call it a season - before a tornado makes a go for our tent, or a ravenous bear invites himself to our campfire party, or I fall into the out-house, or a bag of expired hotdog buns give us all food poisoning...